What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(6)

I was this way because I was this way, and that was really all there was to it.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to make amends for not being the best guest in our little round of introductions. I’d barely said more than two words to the sweet man who was graciously letting me work back of house for him while I stayed with my uncle and studied with Reese. “For everything you’ve done for me. For letting me stay with you, for this job…”

Uncle Randall lit up again, bouncing a little in his chair as he filled his glass with red wine. “Oh, don’t even mention it. As I said before, we’re happy to have you.”

A hush came over the room, and Uncle Randall’s eyes went wide. He glanced over his shoulder, smiling with a tilt of his glass toward me when he turned back around.

“And now, it’s time to meet your new teacher.”

He turned back around, adjusting his chair for a better view as my eyes found the piano. And as soon as I did, the lights in the restaurant dimmed, the chandelier shining brighter, and the man everyone had come to see appeared.

Reese Walker emerged from the shadows as if he didn’t exist if not in close proximity to a piano. He was so tall, his presence so commanding that it was hard to understand how no one had seen him before the light from that chandelier touched his skin. He’d walked the shadows of the room unseen, like a ghost in the night, and now he was the only thing anyone in the room could look at.

His long hair was pulled back into a hair tie just above his neck, his tuxedo black and tailored, his eyes like a forbidden mystery novel that somehow escaped a book burning as he glanced around the room. I didn’t have to pull my eyes away from him to know everyone else was watching with the same rapt attention I gave him. It was impossible not to stare, not to wait with bated breath for him to speak. But he simply greeted the crowd with a small, modest bow before taking his seat at the piano.

And only then did he truly come to life.

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips before it quickly disappeared, and his fingers hovered over the keys for what felt like the longest moment of my life.

Then, without an introduction or even a single word, he played.

To anyone in that room who had never studied piano, it likely just seemed like a talented man playing a beautiful song. I managed to tear my eyes away from Reese long enough to survey some of the faces, and they were smiling, eyes wide and glistening like children watching Christmas tree lights.

But when I looked at Reese?

When I watched his hands move, his chest inflate with every new breath, his eyes close on a rest before slowly opening as he began to play again?

I didn’t see anything to smile about.

This was the power of Reese Walker.

He played like he was a man who’d lived three-hundred lifetimes of immeasurable joy and unbearable sorrow, like he’d seen so much despair that no words would ever do justice. Instead, he bent down and bled at that piano, shedding his skin and baring his soul for the entire room to see. Each note struck a chord in my heart, each crescendo sent a new rush of chills from my neck to my ankles. My eyes watched his hands, his furrowed brows, his flat lips — but I didn’t see a man. I saw the song he played, the music he’d created, and it revealed so much more.

Reese was an entire universe, and the piano was a mere telescope we tried to see him through.

When he finished, he reached for the glass of water on the small table next to him while the room erupted in applause. I couldn’t even hear it at first, not until I blinked for what felt like the first time in the fifteen minutes he had been playing.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” My uncle asked, chuckling a little as he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He offered it to me. “You’re crying.”

I stared at the cloth between us, shaking my head and quickly swiping the tears from my face. I forced a smile. “I’m okay, it was just very moving.”

Uncle Randall gave me a knowing smile, tucking his handkerchief away again. “That’s how I feel when I hear you play.”

I blushed, gaze falling to where my hands rested in my lap. I didn’t know how to accept a compliment about my playing, especially not when I knew I was trying and failing at overcoming my injuries — both internal and external. The piano I’d used to find salvation in now scared me. It was hard, unfamiliar, intimidating.

And if I closed my eyes, I could still see the underbelly of the one at Bramlock — that smooth, dark surface that hid the strings and keys that brought music to life. It was all I could stare at with my wolf on top of me.

I couldn’t find salvation in it that day, and I hadn’t since.

The crowd quieted again as Reese cleared his throat, finally addressing the room with a smile so big I couldn’t believe it belonged to the man I’d just heard play that piece. He tucked a fallen strand of hair back behind his ear and held out his hands. “Well, thank you for that very warm welcome.”

The room applauded again, and this time I joined in, smiling at him from my little corner of the room.

His cheeks were red as he surveyed the crowd, and when his eyes swept over my section, they continued on without pause before snapping back to me.

Me.

At first, I assured myself I was imagining it. But the longer he looked, the less confident I became in that thought.

I stopped clapping as he watched me, feeling pinned to that booth by the weight of his gaze, but it wasn’t the same stare I was used to — the one that said I didn’t belong. It was one of wonder, of genuine curiosity — one that stole my next breath and held it captive in the space between us.